SWF iso glass slipper
by shoefiend
Summary: This is a prequel to the beloved series. It is set in 1998. Carrie explores the world of personals ads dating. Miranda receives a surprising confession from a coworker. Samantha carries on a hot affair. Charlotte attends a wedding.
1. Monday

SWF iso Glass Slipper

One Sunday afternoon in June, Carrie Bradshaw returned from her supply run at the newsstand down the street. She put her keys and packet of Marlboro Lights on the small table by the door. She separated the _New York Star_ from the other two newspapers she is carried and opened it up to the personal ads page. After examining it for some time, she closes the paper, opened her Mac laptop and began to writer her column.

_New York is the city of a million urban fairy tales. For those who believe that their fairy godmother has gotten lost somewhere in the Holland Tunnel, there are the personal ads. The personals ads section of The New York Star is a veritable menu of love and sex. There's something for every one. There are "women seeking men," "men seeking women, " men seeking men". There are even sections for "Either/Or" and "No strings attached."_

Carrie, after years of writing her column for the _Star, _had spent the past week facing down the twin demons of writers block and a dating slump. In her efforts to be **the** anthropologist of New York City's social scene, her course was clear – she would explore the city's dating scene by responding to some of the ads in the paper's personals section and writing about her experiences for her column.

Monday

_In the world of modeling, there are models, there are supermodels, and, as you ascend into the rarified air, there is a third strain, the celebrity model. These are women who cut their teeth on their mother's haute couture, and for whom modeling is a pastime that they pursue after boarding school and before settling down and raising a whole new generation of trust fund babies. Some, like Ivanka Trump, would **never** be mistaken for a girl who became a model through by genetic largess. Then there is Annika Gyllstrom, a six-foot-tall Norse goddess whose father just happens to own half of Sweden. In the space of a few months, she has appeared on the covers of American Elle and French Vogue, and well as been photographed around town with publishing magnate Dominic DelMonaco._

As it turns out, Annika was not the only one spending time with Dominic. For a couple of months, he and Samantha Jones had been carrying on an affair outside of the public eye. They had met when Dominic had followed Samantha into the LaPerla lingerie shop. Dominic bought Samantha a 750-dollar bra and panty set. Less than half an-hour later, Samantha showed her gratitude by giving him a private modeling of that black lace demi-cup and pair of tap pants in his bedroom. They had spent every spare minute together ever since.

Today was Samantha's birthday, and Dominic was helping her celebrate with 600-dollar party for two and New York's finest steak house. That night they brought their torte de chocolat noir back to Samantha's bedroom to enjoy in bed. An hour later, they were spooning under the sheets and enjoying the post-coital afterglow.

" Baby, you are just about the hottest thing on the planet," Dominic murmured appreciatively.

"And you have firm grasp of the obvious." Samantha purred. "And that's not all that's firm."

"I mean it," he declared. "There's just something about you. I don't know what it is. Just the way you look at me sometimes just turns me on. You have more sex appeal in your little finger than any other woman I know has in her whole body."

"You see plenty of models every day," Samantha pointed out.

"I do, and they are gorgeous girls. But not one of them is in your league. They try to look sexy for the camera, but you **are** sexy. You're smart, ballsy, and that's sexy. You're the real thing, baby. I think about the two of us together all the time."

Samantha heard the emotion exposed in Dominic's voice. For the first time in a long time, her heart cracked open just a little.

When Samantha woke up the next morning, she was alone in her bed. A dent in the pillow next to her was all that testified to Dominic's presence the night before. When she got up a few minutes later, she saw that he had written, "Sexy," on the bedroom mirror with her red lipstick.


	2. Tuesday

Tuesday

_The French had their courtesans, the Japanese their geisha. The closest approximation that exists in modern American culture is a strain of upper-middle class girls who have been trained to marry well with a boot-camp ruthlessness since early girlhood, and they are able to achieve a level of prowess in the feminine arts far above that born-wealthy woman. Their archetype is Carolyn Bessette-Kennedy, the lissome blonde who a year or two ago captured the heart of America's prince. _

Charlotte York's friend, Bitsy Wells was the stepdaughter of a successful banker. Her mother, Margaret, was a woman for who marrying well was the highest virtue. It had been over six months now since Bitsy had call Charlotte to announce her engagement, and to ask her to be a bridesmaid. Bitsy had been so proud and overjoyed. "I'm so relieved. I'm the last one in our pledge class to get married – except you of course," she had said. Bitsy's big day was nearing, late Saturday afternoon to be exact.

Bitsy and Charlotte had been close friends since they met at rush their freshman year. Charlotte had been the All-Greek Ball queen her senior year, and Bitsy had only been a member of her court. Charlotte had been sorority president and Bitsy had been the recording secretary. Now all these years later, the tables had turned, and Bitsy wasn't about to let Charlotte forget it.

Bitsy had confided to Charlotte that it was okay with her that she wasn't getting married until she was getting married until she was in her thirties since she was marrying a Prince – Albert J. Prince IV, to be exact. The son of a senator and the grandson of the late former governor governor, Albert's family was expecting great things. As far as his future mother-in-law was concerned, Albert was the matrimonial equivalent of a winning lottery ticket.

This afternoon, Charlotte sat a table at a sidewalk café. It was a fine, sunny afternoon, and the kind that could inspire a feeling of well being even in those of a much less optimistic nature than Charlotte. She had taken the afternoon off so that she could have the final fitting on her bridesmaids dress and do a little shopping for the wedding.

For nearly fifteen minutes she had been waiting for Carrie to appear. Finally she saw come into view. After Carrie sat down at the table opposite Charlotte and took a deep breathe. "Thank you. I owe you a big favor. I have just been on, what I personally believe, will be studied by single women everywhere as the worst first date of all time."

"Was it really bad?"

"It wasn't so much a date as a cautionary tale. First he had this awfully mousy-looking moustache. I just wasn't attracted to him at all. And he mumbled. I couldn't understand anything he said. It was like dating Mumbles from the Dick Tracy comic. And when I did understand what he was saying, it was like, 'oh, never mind.' It was becoming obvious that it was just one of those awful first dates which ends up turning into a race to the bottom to see which one can reject the other in the most harsh manner. That didn't stop him from suggesting that stop off at the liquor store down the street and then to my place for what he referred so as 'afternoon delight.' He turned his back for a moment, and that is when I pushed the button for you to call and get me out of there."

Carrie paused for a moment and took a drink from her glass of water. "So, let's talk about something important. Show me the new shoes you bought for the wedding."

Charlotte brought a Stuart Weitzman shoebox out of the shopping bag sitting by her chair and opened it to reveal a pair of strappy sandals studded with hundreds of tiny emerald-green crystals.

"Oh, my God, Charlotte, they are too beautiful. If the wedding gets to be too much for you, you can just click your heels together and say, "There's no place like Manhattan. There's no place like Manhattan."

"It's going to be a beautiful wedding. I am so happy for Bitsy."

Carrie wondered at her friend's warm and romantic heart. How could any thirty-three year-old single woman be so happy to be going to some else's wedding? Charlotte was always the first to cry out in joy when an engagement was announced. She saw no malice when her fellow wedding guests asked, "When are we going to be doing this for you?" She didn't mind being oldest woman in the line for the bouquet toss. Instead, she anticipated weddings with the same mix of inpatients and optimism with which a child looks forward to Christmas. Her friends were all being married to handsome, successful men, so it was only a matter of time until she found a handsome doctor or hedge fund manager who was right for her. "Charlotte still manages to believe in the beneficence of the universe. Good for her," Carrie thought.


	3. WednesdayThursday

Wednesday

Wednesday evening over French fries and salads at their favorite café, Miranda, Samantha and Carrie discussed their day.

"Carrie, how is the article going?" Miranda asked.

"Well, I have my column. It just isn't the one that I was originally expecting. It's now like. 'Where are all the great single men in New York'?"

"Was it that bad? Charlotte said something the other day about the first date being really bad," Miranda said.

"It's coming out like a single New York woman's manifesto. If you have to have a license to drive a car, then you should have to have a license to date. Maybe you get your learner's permit when you're fifteen or sixteen. And then if you do something really heinous, they should take your license away. There should be penalties. It was so bad that the only thing that could make me feel better was a trip to Manolo Blanknik. These men owe me $550 for deceptive dating practices. Anyway, I am done. I agreed to go on three of these dates, and today's was the last. I will never respond to a personals ad ever again."

"What about the other two today?" Samantha asked

"Let's see: Last night, I had cocktails with 'Hopeless Romantic', 40." He was fifty-five if he was a day."

"Eeew."

"Today I had lunch in the Meatpacking district with 'Are you the one?' His idea of an appropriate after-lunch activity was going to a sex shop."

"You're kidding. Right?" Miranda asked.

"No. They had all this funny novelty stuff. I bought each of you a little souvenir – a wind-up hopping penis."

"That's the best you could do?" Samantha said with mock scorn. "While you were there, you should have bought yourself one of those "Super Vibra 5000s." I love mine. It's the next best thing to the real thing … not that I have used mine in weeks."

"Samantha likes a boy," Carrie teased.

"Since when do you require more than proof of a Y chromosome for having sex with someone? You do really like him," Miranda accused.

"All I am saying is that I am having the best of sex of my life. It's like there was a whole different level of hot sex out there I had no idea about. I have never felt this way about any other man, and it just keeps getting better. He's like an authentic Birkin bag in a trunk full of knock-offs"

"I knew something strange was going on today when I saw that squadron of flying pigs outside my office window today. Now I know what it was: Samantha Jones is in love."

Thursday

At the break room in the law offices of blank bland and blah, Miranda and her coworkers were having a going-away party for Henry, a junior partner who had long been a productive partner for Miranda as well as her best friend at work. Miranda had never given Henry much thought until about a month ago when he had announced that he was leaving to join another firm in Los Angeles.

As the party began to break up, Miranda started to leave the break room.

"Miranda, can I see you for a second?" Henry requested.

"Uh, sure. Is it something about the Hendrix deposition because…"

"No, that's not it," he said and led her into the copy room and shut the door behind her.

"These past few days I have been tortured. There is something I have wanted to say to you for the last year or so, but it never seemed the right time. Miranda, I love you."

"What?"

"It came up on me so gradually I didn't see it coming. We just spent all those late nights working together. Then one night we were sitting in the conference room around midnight eating greasy Chinese take-out, and it's just like, 'Wow, did you just feel that?'"

"I wish I had known. How can it be that you never said anything to me?"

"If I had the chance to do it all over again, I would have said something. Sometimes I blame myself for being a coward. And sometimes I told myself that I should just get over it because we worked so closely together. After all, I spent much more time with you than I ever did with any of the women I went out with. I am happy to be moving back to LA. The new firm is a great opportunity for me. My family is there. It just never occurred to me until the other day that I wouldn't get to tell you how I feel. Then, bam, it was all of a sudden like now or never. I just didn't want it to go my whole life never having told you how I felt. I hope that I find someone in LA who is a lot like you."

A hundred replies formed in Miranda's brain, none of which could make it to her tongue. Before she could say anything, Henry left the copy room, and shut the door behind him. A feeling of heaviness formed in her gut and made her feel slight queasy and like she was sinking through the solid floor beneath her feet. One of the best men she had ever known was walking out of her life. Why hadn't either of them said anything before he had disappeared into geographic undesirability?


	4. FridayThe weekend

Friday

Samantha was not one to become anxious when a man didn't call. She thought nothing of it when Dominic didn't call on Tuesday. She thought very little of it when he didn't call on Wednesday. By Thursday she was trying not to think about the reasons he wasn't calling. Then Friday morning, he called and asked her to lunch at a popular lunchtime watering hole.

"So, Dominic, tell me, what is this big news you were mentioning this morning.

" You've been so great. This thing between us has been so damned hot. No other woman has ever turned me on the way you do. I don't want it to end."

" Ooooh, I feel the same way," Samantha cooed seductively. This is what she had been hoping for all week.

"Good, we're on the same page then. I have something to tell you. I went out to Tiffany's this morning and bought a ring.

"A ring?"

"Yes, for Annika. If I marry Annika, it will consolidate the deal between her father and me. Otherwise, I'm just another suitor with an offer on the table. The old man would do business with his son-in-law. Right now, I am the head of one of the largest publishing companies in New York City. But with old man Gyllstrom's support, I am going to be in a whole new league. I have my chance to be where I have always wanted to be."

"You're dumping me for some bitch with a trust fund?"

"Hold on. I never said anything about dumping you. Look, I know a woman like you understands what I am saying. I have a friend who is moving out of his apartment near my office. I'd like to take it for you. We could be together all the time. I know we'll have a great time together. I could help your get that PR firm of yours into the big time. It would be good for both of us. Everybody wins."

_Samantha was suddenly seeing the writing on the bedroom mirror, and she didn't like what it was starting to say."_

The waiter approaches the table with the menus. "May I tell you about our lunch specials?"

"Give us a moment," Dominic said in an irritated tone.

Samantha got out of her chair, threw her drink in Dominic's face and walked off.

Saturday

Miranda picked up her phone and dialed Derek's number, knowing that he would be on the plane to Los Angeles and that his voice mail would pick up.

"Derek, about what you said yesterday… I think it was important that you said it, and I liked hearing you say it. Good luck in LA."

_Meanwhile at one of America's castles on Cape Cod, a handsome Prince and his fair damsel had just been joined in marriage. _

The wedding photographer announced, "That's it everybody. We just need a few more of the bride and her family and we're all done."

Bitsy's mother said, "Okay, all you bridesmaids, we're going to have the car come for you in about five or ten minutes to take you to the club for the reception."

Charlotte started to look for the bathroom. She took a wrong turn and ended up in a spare bedroom instead. She felt a hand, large and warm caressing, her buttock. She heard her own startled cry, and then she turned around to face the offender.

"Albert?"

"I couldn't help but notice how sexy you look in that dress."

"But you married Bitsy just half an-hour ago."

"So? Bitsy is a good sport. Mr. and Mrs. Bourgeois Middle America like to see their candidates standing on the platform with a pretty wife. They don't like bachelors. In return, Bitsy gets to be Mrs. Albert Prince and I don't even care that her real father is a carpenter.

_Albert had no way of knowing he had found the one woman at that wedding who would never see marriage as an quaint, bourgeois custom._

Charlotte flailed, hitting him over and over again with her bouquet until there was not a bloom intact. She then stomped off down the hall until she found the bathroom. She went in and locked the door behind her. She sat on a vanity stool near the door, took her cell phone out of her bag and dialed Carrie's number.

"Hi, this is Carrie. I'm out shoe shopping. Leave me a message."

She thought of calling Miranda or Samantha. She punched the speed dial number for Miranda. After the phone rang the third time, she hung up. She knew what she could have to do.

_When she was in the reception line, Charlotte saw Albert discretely caressing the still-shapely buttocks of his new mother-in-law. He was some prince, that Albert._

Sunday

Samantha stands alone in the living room, near the front door. She is holding her cell phone. Dominic's name is highlighted on a list of names on the phone's screen. Samantha scrolls down until she reaches the delete option. The screen on the phone asks, "Are you sure you want to delete 'Dominic'?" Samantha pushes the "yes" button. She put the phone in her handbag and left her apartment.

Later that afternoon four friends spent a couple of hours wondering though the rows of stall at the flea market. Carrie saw the booth that she had been looking for all afternoon, the one that sells the ghetto gold jewelry. She lets out a happy little shriek, which stopped her friends.

Later, the vendor handed Carrie her purchase, a necklace. She hands the elephant ear she had been eating to Miranda who threw it in the trash. Carrie then made her hair into ponytail with her hands and pulls it away from her neck. Charlotte takes the necklace and fastens it around Carrie's neck. It is THE "Carrie" necklace.

That night Carrie sat with her Mac opened in front of her. It was time for her to put her column to bed for another week.

_If New York City is the great sexual banquet, why does it seem that so many poor suckers starving? Has the bounty laid out before us have our spirits undernourished and underfed? Can the exhaustive search for what we are told we should want keep us from what truly nourishes our souls? Or maybe, we just need good friends to keep us company while we wait for our fairy godmother to show up. _


End file.
